


Go, Go, Stiles!

by MotherGoddamn, Rebness



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3269945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherGoddamn/pseuds/MotherGoddamn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebness/pseuds/Rebness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is a go-karting extraordinaire. No, really. Stop laughing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go, Go, Stiles!

  
  
'Now listen up!' snarled Coach Finstock. 'Today, we take no prisoners. Today, we destroy our opponents. Anyone who doesn't place is off the team, period! I won't be humiliated on this battlefield, you understand?' He glared at his audience before giving a decisive nod. 'Any questions?'

Scott held up his hand.

'McCall?'

'I thought this was just a bit of fun,' said Scott. 'The school said it was a team-building exercise...'

'It is!' snapped Coach Finstock. 'Who doesn't like go-karting?' He narrowed his eyes. 'Nobody on my team, that's who! You get out of here if you don't like fun!' He pointed a finger at Danny. 'But even in fun, we don't let them win, right?'

Danny shrugged. 'I guess. There's just one thing, though...'

'Yeah?'

'Um, our opponents are like 12-year-olds.'

'That's what they want you to think!'

'Dude.' Stiles leaned over to Scott. 'Have you seen our instructor?' He gestured to the handsome brooding man in the corner, openly rolling his eyes at the Coach. 'He should come with a caution sign.'

'Because he's hot?'

'Because he's-- oh, you got it. Never mind. Right. Yeah, he's hot.' Stiles wriggled his eyebrows. 'I'd let him ram _my_ kart.'

'Yeah, but you're aren't supposed to do that. The video said.'

Stiles frowned. 'What video?'

'The one we just watched, Stiles,' said Scott. 'Like five minutes ago?'

Stiles frowned, and then shrugged. 'Whatever. I cannot wait to push Jackson into the wall with my awesome mad kart skills.'

'But the video said--'

'Are you going to let society push you around forever, man? Screw the rules. Fuck da police.'

'Ew.' Scott shuddered. 'The police is your dad.'

'Are you saying that my father is unattractive, Scott?' Stiles asked with narrowed eyes. 'Because at least _my_ dad's neck is a different width to his head.'

'Oh, my God,' Scott hissed. 'Will you leave my dad's neck alone?'

'I'm just saying, my dad can wear polo necks.'

'Look, you both have very attractive fathers and it would be an honour to sleep with them!' shouted Coach Finstock. He scowled as the rest of the team started laughing, while Scott grinned happily and Stiles tried to sink to the floor. 'Now, this man here is your marshal for the day so listen up!'

'Thanks, Coach. That was--- That was something that happened.' He turned to the group and gave a nod. 'Good morning, I'm Derek Hale.'

Stiles perked up as Derek began speaking, because he generally felt that attractive people were worthy of one's time. But then, to his horror, Derek started talking about the proper way to get into the kart, how a seat-belt should be worn, how to call for attention and probably a variety of other things. Stiles gazed around the room, played out a beat on his knees, then whipped out his cellphone.

'You at the back-- are you listening?' called Derek.

'Stiles!' hissed Scott from the side of his mouth. 'Hot scary dude is talking to you.'

'Just a second, dude, I am totally going to cock-block this guy on ebay. 14 seconds, bro.'

Coach Finstock rose to his feet. 'Bilinski!'

'Come on, come on...'

'This isn't a game, son!' said Coach Finstock.

'It kind of is a game,' said Derek diplomatically. 'I just need to ensure that we abide by the rules of the game--'

'Stiles, we're going to get into trouble!' said Scott.

'Now!' Stiles' fingers flew over his cell. 'Four seconds, man. Who's my bitch, _oreilly23?_ You're my bitch!'

'Are you on eBay while I'm giving you a safety talk?' Derek said. 'Seriously?'

'What?' Stiles glanced up. 'What's going on? Have I got something on my face?' He shrugged and turned to Scott, 'Dude, I just got the sweetest pair of _Nikes._ And they are only a little bit bloodstained.'

'BILINSKI!'

Stiles fumbled and put his cellphone away. He gave Derek an abashed smile, resolving to appear as if he was paying attention while Derek droned on about flags and stopping.

God, he was pretty. Stiles could write sonnets to his face but there wasn't a lot that rhymed with sphincter.

'Right!' Derek called clapping his hands together, and interrupting a pretty detailed daydream featuring him and Stiles as Khaleesi and Khal Drogo (Stiles made a _fanastic_ Drogo). 'Let's get out on the track!'

'Scott,' Danny hissed as they left the room. 'Here,' he handed a piece of number with a phone number hastily scrawled across it. 'For your dad.'

'Thanks, Danny!' Scott beamed.

' _Rude_ ,' Stiles muttered, as he pulled on his helmet.

* * *

  
Derek watched with satisfaction as the team hurtled across the track, impressed particularly with Jackson's ruthless speeding and refusal to slow down on corners. He smiled as the kid who argued about his father's wide neck slowed down courteously at each bend, allowing people to pass, before somehow catching up with Jackson.

He frowned. The rude one, Stiles Bilinski, according to the coach, still hadn't gone past. He cast a long look to the left of the track, then to the right. 'You!' he shouted. 'You're in the pit stop! Slow down! Why are you in the pit stop?'

Stiles gave him a thumbs-up, tried to reverse, realised he couldn't. Derek watched in utter horror as he climbed out of his kart to turn it around. Derek hit the emergency button to turn the lights to red and ran out onto the track, waving the black flag.

'Seriously?' he snarled, grabbing hold of Stiles. 'You don't get out on the track! Ever!'

'Calm down, I was just turning my kart around--'

'I should ban you from any more racing!'

Stiles' jaw dropped. 'You wouldn't do that!' He looked at Derek pleadingly. 'Please, I won't get out of the kart again!'

Derek heaved a huge sigh. 'Okay, but you pay attention to the rules in future, right? Remember the safety briefing.' He pulled the kart back and waited as Stiles got back in.

'Right,' said Stiles, his voice muffled by the helmet. 'The safety briefing. Flags. Seat-belt. Stuff!'

Derek stepped back from the track and returned to the controls. He hit the green button and watched grimly as Stiles hurtled past him. 'Idiot,' he muttered.

* * *

  
'Okay, I need a rematch.' Stiles stormed up to Derek, banging his helmet down on the counter.

'A rematch.' Derek stated. 'Was that ritual humiliation not enough to fill your daily quota?'

'Dude, I am a rock star at go-karting. A legend. I just wasn't, you know, in the zone yet.' He straightened up. 'You couldn't throw Mohammed Ali into a ring and expect him to knock the guy down in the first round.'

Derek made a considering face. 'Actually, pretty sure you could. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Mohammed Ali, or even a passing colour-blind kitten would manage not to do three laps going the wrong way.'

'Wait, what?' Stiles frowned. 'This thing is one way?'

'Yes!'

'If I was doing it so wrong why did you keep encouraging me with all that flag waving?'

'That wasn't--- I' m not a cheerleader, Stiles!' He pulled up the next race on his monitor and turned it around. 'You're not in the next race. Or the one after that. You're done for today.'

'You black flagged me?' gasped Stiles.

'Yeah, that's right.' He smirked as he walked over to the karts and began lining them up for the next race. 'But kudos, really. At least you learned what one of the flags meant.'

'Well excuse me for not speaking flag!' shouted Stiles as he dragged the helmet from his head and flung it onto the shelf. 'I'm going to conquer this. I'm totally going to Benjamin Button all over this place.'

'Jenson.'

'What? Ew. I don't watch _Supernatural_. Stop changing the subject! You just watch! I hope you know how to spell Stilinski because that's going up on that leader board!'

'Okay, great. Yeah, sure. Don't forget to hand over your gloves at reception, champ.'

* * *

 

Stiles returned to the track on a daily basis, heading there straight after school on weekdays and hurtling through the doors at 9am on weekends. Sundays were a cinch because they only had skeleton staff on and that douche with the huge green anime eyes wasn't there to fold his arms and stare Stiles down.

Of course, Stiles wasn't a loser and he wasn't obsessed or anything, he was just helping out a local business and introducing the fun that was go-karting to his friends.

Scott quickly tired of go-karting, preferring to spend time with Allison holding hands or running through meadows, so Stiles took Lydia a couple of times.  He felt a little smug when he first passed her applying lipstick through an open visor, only to eat her dust fifteen seconds later. Although, watching her do the MTV slow motion, hair revealed from helmet thing made it sort of worth it.

Next on his list of karting allies was Isaac, who, no matter how many times Derek explained things, could not understand that they were not, in fact, on dodgems. The breaking point for both Stiles and Derek was when Isaac rammed him into a group of children and then declared that he had won.

Stiles thought he was on to a winner by taking Greenburg, only to watch in horror before the race as Greenburg strapped a Go Pro camera to his helmet and made a slicing motion across his throat, staring at Stiles the whole time. Apparently, he held the fastest speed record the centre had ever seen. Which he broke. Three times over.

So, it was understandable  that Derek might, perhaps, just be getting a little weary of seeing him.

'Dude, you have got to let me have one more go. I've nearly got this now. I'm like the last ten minutes of the movie, and all of this has been the montage bit.' He pointed at the track. 'I'm going to go flying across that finish line and you're going to start crying proud, manly, hot, sexy tears.' Stiles gulped. 'I mean, tears, Just proud man tears.'

'Stiles,' said Derek woodenly. 'This has got to stop. I am on a first name basis with your father. I have his emergency contact number nailed above my desk. I know your blood group.'

'Okay, okay.' Stiles glanced around him and lowered his voice. 'Truth time.' He leant across the counter. 'Who's hotter? My dad or Scott's?'

Derek rolled his eyes. 'I will not be dragged into this. _Again._ Stiles, you flipped your kart _three times_. They are engineered to make that a physical impossibility!'

Stiles flapped his hand. 'Pfft. Where's the receipts?'

Derek took hold of his shoulder and spun him around to face the TV screen, where his besting of kart engineering showed him proudly flipping his kart in slow-motion replay.

Stiles blinked. 'Cool.'

'No, not cool, Stiles.' Derek ran his hands through his hair. 'You're going to get yourself hurt! Seriously. That---that wouldn't be good.'

Stiles felt his heart skip at that. Derek actually looked concerned. 'You mean--- You mean because it would reflect badly on you as an instructor?'

'The fact that you've became an agenda on my weekly therapy lesson reflects badly on me as an instructor.' Derek sighed. 'Okay, okay. You get one more go. One! And then go home.'

'See, man! I knew you totally liked me! You're like my Mr. Miyagi or that bald dude from _Whiplash_ \--'

'I only slapped you once and that was to wake you up--'

'Totally proud, man tears coming right up!' Stiles yelled, running back towards the kart. 'You just watch.'

* * *

  
Derek watched the racers pull into the track for the final race of the night. He hated the vague sense of growing unease, having watched Stiles come in no better than fourth place for the last few races. He had grown to dread seeing Stiles' hopeful, anxious face at the beginning of each session, only to see the dejection when he pulled off his helmet at the end of each race and learned he still hadn't won.

Tonight had been the same old scenario. One of his colleagues had asked what the hell the kid was on, why he was turning something fun into some crazy expensive mission to win, and Derek had stood there casting about for a reason he wasn't able to give. He didn't think he could explain it to anyone else if he tried.

He grabbed his coat and keys from his locker and made his way to the changing rooms to freshen up before the drive home. The vague sense of dread blossomed into full-blown regret when he opened the door to hear someone sobbing in there. _Oh, great,_ he thought bitterly. Storage Wars _starts in a half hour and now I've got to comfort someone on The Man's time._

  
He was tempted to quickly shut the door and flee, but responsibility won out and he opened the door further with a sigh. 'Sorry to do this, but we're closing and--' he closed the door behind him, frowning.

'Stiles?'

'Yeah, I'll be right out,' said Stiles, turning away from him quickly.

'Are you crying?' He walked over to the kid, placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Are you all right?'

'Can you just leave it?' snapped Stiles, pulling away from him.

'I'm just trying to help--'

'I don't need your help, okay?' He stood up and began gathering his things. 'Not that you'd offer it, anyway.'

'That's unfair,' said Derek sternly.

'You think so!' Stiles burst out, tears springing to his eyes again. 'You know what's unfair? This!'

Derek blinked. 'Go-karting?'

'Yes! This! Go-karting! Everything weighted against me!'

'There isn't a conspiracy here, Stiles. Sometimes you're just not the best at something. I probably wouldn't be good at...' he bit his lip thoughtfully. 'Math?'

'Nobody's good at math!' Stiles snapped. 'And I don't think it's a conspiracy, okay? I just wanted to apply myself, and I did apply myself and still I sucked!'

'Stiles--'

'And no  one will even race against me anymore! I'm a total joke.' He rubbed at his eyes angrily. 'I don't even no why I'm still bothering. I should just give up.'

A cold settled in Derek's gut at the words, his heart was beating just that bit faster. Why he didn't know. 'Listen,' he said, gripping Stile's shoulder and turning him to face him.  'I'll race you.' Derek said with finality. 'Just me and you. Right now.' He held out a hand. 'Come on, then.'

'But don't you need to close?' whispered Stiles, a glimmer of hope returning to his eyes.

'It can wait.' Derek smiled. 'Happy to help a friend. Besides, you may as well put all that practise to use and go up against the true master.'

Stiles grinned, ducking his head shyly. 'Okay. Cool. Yeah.' He placed his palm over Derek's, allowing himself to be pulled forward. 'Let's race.'

Derek gave a squeeze of his fingers as they walked to the karts , feeling strangely uninhibited. Stiles just had that way about him. You tried to resist and after awhile you began craving his company- his banter, his laugh,  his easy smile, the adorable helmet mussed hair, the smooth line of his lithe body, the luscious bow of his pink lips the---

_Oh, shit._

When the hell had _that_ happened?

'Derek?' Stiles asked, pushing a helmet at Derek's chest. 'You okay, man?'

'What?' Derek startled, feeling pinned in the gaze of Stiles' soft amber eyes. 'Uh, yeah. Yes! Just you know. Getting in the zone.' He rubbed at the back of his neck. 'Sting like a butterfly, dance like a bee and all that.'

'Oh, man! You're so going down!'

Derek's mind flooded with NC-17 images. 'I---'

'You just bought yourself a ticket to pound town!' Stiles beamed. 'I'm going to lick you so hard, man.

Sweet Jesus.

'All you are going to be looking at is my lily white ass!'

'Please. Stop. Trash. Talking!' Derek grunted as he climbed into his kart.

Stiles laughed delightedly before poking out a very long, very pink tongue and wriggling into his own vehicle.

Oh, good Lord. Derek needed to find out where he bought tickets to pound town so badly.  


* * *

  
_Motherfucker!_

'What?' Derek removed his helmet and looked up from the kart. 'You won?'

'I won? _I_ won? I _won_?'

'Yes?' Derek frowned. 'Yay?'

'No! Not yay! Very unyay! This is the most unyay thing that has ever been or ever will!' Stiles flailed out his arms. 'Oh, what's the point? You clearly don't want me here!'

Stiles spun off his heel, stalking away from the other man and kicking over a flag as he went. Fucking flags. Fucking go-karting. Fucking _Derek._

'Stiles! Stiles, wait!' Derek yelled, chasing after him. 'Will you just stop a second?'

Stiles turned, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. 'What for? Huh?'

Derek's eyes widened and he bent to retrieve the scattered flag. 'I-- Stiles, what's wrong? You won! Isn't that a good thing? Why are you so angry?'

'You let me win, Derek! That's what's wrong!'

'What? Nooo. Nope.' Derek coughed into his fist. 'You're just super good is all.'

'At one point you weren't even moving! You waved at me! I lapped you! _Twice_!' Stiles yelled, face contorted in frustration. 'You know how important this was to me!

'It's... It's _go-karting_.'

'Do you want rid of me that much? Huh?' Stiles stalked forward and poked him in the chest with an accusing finger. 'Am I that much of an annoyance? An eye-sore?' Stiles felt his stomach tighten in dread. 'Oh, God, am I a joke to you as well?'

'What? No! Not at all!' Derek held up a hand. 'It's just--- You seemed so sad and I didn't... I didn't like that.' He sighed. 'Look, I was just trying to make you feel better. I didn't want you to give up. To, uh, maybe stop coming at all.' Derek's cheeks reddened and he fumbled with the flag awkwardly. 'That would reflect badly on me, as a-- an instructor.'

'An instructor?' Stiles asked slowly, eyebrow raised.

'Yes.'

'And you don't like me being sad?'

'No. You... You have a really nice smile.' Derek stared down at the floor like it had insulted his sainted mother. 'Which I like. As an instructor. It's in the training.'

'It's in your training to like my smile--- as an instructor?'

'These new listening skills of yours could have done with developing soo--- _hmph_!' He reeled back in shock as Stiles pulled his lips away from his Derek's mouth.

'Oh, shit! You didn't kiss back!' Stiles exclaimed, fingers clenching uncertainly on Derek's shoulders. 'I thought that--- Oh, my God. I'm so sorry!'

'Stiles! Stiles! You just took me by surprise!' Derek could feel his face being overtaken by the size of his inane grin. 'I'm more than okay with you kissing me.'

'Really?'

Derek huffed. 'Yup. In fact.' He shyly held the flag up.

Stiles blinked.

Derek motioned his head towards the flag and gave an encouraging grin.

Stiles tilted his head.

'The flag, Stiles,' Derek stage whispered.

'What.'

'It's _green_.'

'Oh, right!' Stiles nodded enthusiastically. 'It's a nice colour! It goes with your eyes!'

'Green means... Stiles! Green means go! As in kiss me! Even if you missed safet--- Oh, my, _God_. It's the universal colour for GO.'

Stiles frowned. 'Yellow is go. Green is go faster but don't overtake.'

'How-- is this why-- you--!' sputtered Derek.

He looked increasingly apoplectic; Stiles regarded him, a swell of pity in his heart. Clearly Derek had some sort of problem, taking go-karting so seriously. He shook his head in sympathy as Derek ranted, and then, being the decent sort of person he was, he leaned in and kissed him deeply. It was totally the decent thing to do.  


  
FINISH LINE


End file.
